Okay, so remember that time we went to Santa Monica, Internet, and it took 1,500 hours because I am INCAPABLE of driving (especially a RENTAL HYUNDAI ACCENT!) and talking at the same time, and so we passed very specific exits over and over again (and saw the Sherman Oaks mall approx. 750 batshitzillion times, all: "Hey! There’s the Sherman Oaks mall! Again!") and when we finally got to 3rd St. we went into Anthropologie and I bought a white shirt with embroidery and little buttons, in hope that it would make me look TAN vs. SUN POISONED, and fresh and new and virginal, and then I wore it when we got drunk a few days later in San Diego and you randomly approached the teeny bleach-blonde boys from West Point to talk about Quiet Riot?
Okay, so remember that shirt? I’m wearing it today at work.
I sure wish you would have told me when I bought it four years ago that it was a fucking CROP TOP.
Thanks a lot, Internet. Thanks a lot.
Boring blog posts to continue until further notice, or until I figure out a way to snooze at work and magically gather a second/third/fifth wind to carry me through the rest o’ the hot hot summer; to get me psyched again; to paint DC reddish… etc.
I guess I’ll just see you at Ft. Reno on Thursday, I plan on napping full-time until then.